


too often

by bakibaki (mangofree)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Shapeshifting, Weekend visit, kuroo becomes a literal cat, really just every fluff trope rolled into one fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangofree/pseuds/bakibaki
Summary: a normal weekend at kenma's house, and kuroo is still a coward.He's always had a second form-- the lanky black cat with gold eyes whose meow is a little uncanny. He moved to Tokyo when he was seven, and both of his forms have grown with him since, stretching into long limbs and the same grace that follows him no matter what form he may choose.alternatively, a bunch of cats bully kuroo into confessing
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	too often

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i'm bad at summaries but have yet another self indulgent story full of cliches

Kuroo visits Kenma's house a little too often. He's not sure when it started, and he's not sure he wants to stop.

He's always had a second form-- the lanky black cat with gold eyes whose meow is a little uncanny. He moved to Tokyo when he was seven, and both of his forms have grown with him since, stretching into long limbs and the same grace that follows him no matter what form he may choose.

Kuroo has watched Kenma grow, too, in more aspects then he probably should have.

There's the quiet, withdrawn Kenma he sees at school, who's slowly learning to speak up during class as much as he does during volleyball practice. But there's also the Kenma who rambles softly, casually, to the cats who drop by his porch for the fish scraps he leaves out for them. 

The fish scraps taste a lot better in cat form, Kuroo has found. 

Kuroo's afternoons are never boring; he has made friends with both the humans and cats in his neighborhood, and there's always something to do. He plays soccer on Tuesdays and goes hunting on Thursdays, and his shadow for the day is painted on the road underneath every dusky sky.

Saturdays are with Kenma, though, and he looks forward to them, looks forward to not having to go home until the day after. Sometimes he cheats— sometimes he lingers for another day, in a different form.

He always returns home after that, though, to pick up his life where he left it. 

Today is one such Saturday, and Kuroo is draped over Kenma's couch, tall enough to sling an arm around the top of it while crossing his legs over Kenma's lap. There's a volleyball match (Italy VS Brazil) from the CD he brought playing on the living room TV, and they're both studying it while sharing a bowl of popcorn. 

"Over there, see, the setter builds what looks like a pipeline back attack, but he's gonna dump the ball," Kenma says, eyes flashing.

Sure enough, Brazil's setter swiftly moves across the screen to position, then dumps the ball over the net. Kuroo smiles and leans over to grab a handful of popcorn. "Spoken like a veteran mastermind."

Kenma swats at his hand. "We're gonna be out of popcorn before the match is over if you keep eating it so fast."

"I'll just make more," Kuroo says, but folds his hands in his lap obediently.

Despite Brazil's impressive setter, Italy wins the match 25-18 and goes on to take the third set with 25-20, offsetting Brazil's win in the first match. An impressive dig by Brazil's libero saves them from losing the game, though, and they move onto the final set with a pensive score of 23-25. 

Kuroo tears his eyes away from the screen and glances at Kenma. If they were watching some other movie, usually Kenma would be asleep by now.

This is not the case with volleyball matches, apparently, because the veteran mastermind in question has the same expression on his face as when he's about to clear a boss level in one of his video games.

Kuroo raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to be the one responsible for breaking Kenma's focus when he gets like this.

As the next set begins, Kuroo disentangles his legs and gets up to turn on the lights; the sky outside is quickly fading to black.

When he sits back down, Italy's middle blockers are in the midst of shutting out Brazil's wing spikers. Kenma has leaned forward over the popcorn bowl, practically guarding it. Having been left with no choice, Kuroo darts his hand underneath Kenma’s chest and fishes around blindly in the bowl.

Kenma makes a very undignified squeaking noise and jerks back, which Kuroo takes as an opportunity to snatch the popcorn bowl.

"You animal," Kenma hisses, sparing a split-second glance at Kuroo's smug expression before returning his attention to the TV screen.

Kuroo chews on some kernels contentedly. Kenma's technically not wrong with his accusation, so it doesn’t bother him. 

A few minutes later, the Italian side of the stadium cheers raucously as their last serve goes in flawlessly; a perfect service ace. Kuroo claps his hands too, smiling innocently as Kenma squints at him in vague annoyance. 

“What? I can’t applaud the winning team?”

“You ate all the popcorn,” Kenma huffs, then shoves Kuroo’s legs off his lap. “I’m gonna go get some actual food.”

“Good match, though, right?”

“Yeah.”

Kenma heads off to the kitchen and Kuroo lies back on the couch, stretching his whole body across it. It's very comfortable. He's not tired, but he finds himself closing his eyes anyway. 

-

Kuroo wakes up to a massive weight on his chest.

“Wh—” he wheezes, and blinks bleary eyes open to the sight of Kenma eating rice out of a Tupperware, who is sitting squarely on top of him.

Kenma regards him unsympathetically. “You left no room.”

Kuroo attempts to breathe and fails. “I’m— suffocating—” 

“No, this would be suffocating,” Kenma says, and stuffs a couch pillow into Kuroo’s face. 

“So cruel,” Kuroo tries to say, but it comes out as a muffled cough. Somehow, he manages to wriggle himself out from underneath both Kenma and the couch cushion, but he doesn’t stick the landing, collapsing in a heap of long limbs on the hardwood floor.

“Ow.” 

Kenma laughs dryly, then scoots over to make room. “There’s fish in the microwave if you want it.”

Kuroo perks up. Brushing himself off, he heads over to the attached kitchen and opens the microwave, in which he finds a container of warmed grilled mackerel leftovers. It’s his favorite, in both human and cat form. 

He returns to the living room. The windows are completely dark by now, and the clock on the wall (always five minutes late) reads 8:14. 

“How long was I asleep for?” Kuroo asks, sitting down next to Kenma. 

“An hour,” Kenma says. “You were very hard to wake up.”

“So you chose killing me as your only other option?”

“No, I assumed you were dead and decided to use you as the couch since you were too heavy to move.”

In response, Kuroo steals some rice from Kenma’s Tupperware. He earns a brief glare from him, then a conceding sigh. Kuroo knows he’s won. 

They sit quietly like that for a while, with Kuroo periodically stealing rice, being very careful not to drop any. They’re technically not supposed to eat on the couch, not after what happened the last time when Kenma dropped an entire bowl of miso soup and they tried everything to get the stain out with no success. It’s still there, actually, if Kuroo squints. The spot still smells like miso too, but his human form doesn’t have a sense of smell good enough to pick that up. 

The crickets are starting to chirp outside, and if he listens closely, he can hear the untrimmed grass sway in the small yard outside. Tonight, there’s another sound on top of that, something that sounds like—

“Mako,” Kenma says, sitting straight up. “Kuro, get the food.”

Kenma moves faster than he ever does normally at school, hurrying to the screen door and pulling it open with a squeak. Kuroo grumbles a bit but gets off the couch, grabbing a tin of cat food from the kitchen counter before joining him outside. 

Kuroo squints to catch the little bit of light that the porch light offers, careful not to trip down the steps, and sets the food down next to Mako.

Mako scrambles off Kenma’s lap in a calico-colored blur and dives straight for the food. Kenma watches her fondly, a soft smile resting on his lips. 

Kuroo knows that this smile is reserved for cats. It’s petty, but he’s a bit jealous of that fact— someday, he’ll coax it out of him even in human form. But for now, really, he’s just happy he gets to see it at all. 

“What?” Kenma says, and Kuroo realizes he’s been staring.

“You’ve got rice on your face,” he says smoothly, and chuckles at the way Kenma rubs his cheek on his sleeve. (It’s cute, objectively.)

Mako meows at him, and Kuroo can’t understand her right now, but he swears she sounds almost accusatory. Her green eyes glitter tauntingly against the night sky. Kuroo frowns at her, pretends he hasn’t been called a romantic coward by her before on the same porch in a different form. “There’s no more food in the kitchen, so don’t look at me like that.”

_I’m not looking at you like that,_ her eyes say, but she shakes her head in an almost human expression of disappointment and curls herself around Kenma’s legs. 

Kenma strokes a finger down the orange splotch on her forehead, lingering at the base of her ears expertly. “Where’s Kuro?” he asks her, as if she can answer. 

Kuroo almost turns around at the familiar nickname but stops himself a moment before. Kenma’s referring to the glossy black stray with weirdly tousled fur and a weird meow, he reminds himself, not his neighbor and best friend of ten years. They just happen to have the same nickname, and also happen to be the same person.

Mako has the audacity to point her paw in Kuroo’s direction and meow. Kuroo feigns complete ignorance. 

“Wrong Kuro, buddy,” he chuckles, resting his chin on his hand. “Kinda freaky of you to perfectly understand Japanese like that.”

Kenma laughs at Mako’s undeniably miffed expression. Kuroo’s heart stutters. “You’re too smart for your own good,” Kenma murmurs, still chuckling quietly. Kuroo couldn’t agree more. 

Kuroo looks away from Mako’s astute gaze and into the night, where the outline of the yard’s fence blurs into the darkness. He would be able to see past it if he were a cat, he thinks idly. Maybe tonight would have been better spent in that form, relaxing alongside Mako instead of being the one to feed her. He hears purring, and he turns around to see the cat in question stretched out across Kenma’s lap, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. 

“She looks comfortable,” Kuroo says, sounding more sullen than he would have liked.

Kenma and Mako look up at him with matching smug expressions. “Jealous?” Kenma asks, and Kuroo scoffs. 

“Of a stray cat? I have better things to be jealous of,” he says, and it’s not exactly a lie.

The crickets’ chorus in the depth of the grass intensifies as if to punctuate the silence. Kuroo is impressed at the comedic timing of the cruel universe. 

“Here,” Kenma says, gently pushing Mako off his lap. “Go to Kuro.” 

Ah. That would make more sense than Kuroo’s interpretation of the question. 

Mako looks disgruntled but obeys, hopping onto Kuroo’s lap and sinking her claws in. She kneads around, ignoring his quiet mutters of _ow ow ow ow_ and as if that wasn’t enough, drives home the killing blow by stepping firmly on his crotch before settling in. 

“ _OW!_ ” Kuroo yelps. “Stupid— sadistic cat—”

His stream of insults is cut short by Kenma laughing, sincere and sweet, and Kuroo’s anger dissolves (though the pain doesn’t). Kenma’s half-blond hair hangs in a curtain around his face, and Kuroo’s hands twitch with the traitorous urge to brush it aside so he can see his friend’s expression properly— catch the rare smile before it fades, even if it was at his own expense. 

Kuroo sighs. “You’re so mean,” he tells Mako, and Mako purrs innocently. It’s infuriating. 

“She likes you,” Kenma says, and the smile is still there, soft and easy. It should be a crime, really, the way it makes Kuroo’s heart swoop in directions that should be physically impossible. 

“She just tried to kill my future children,” he replies, but he can’t summon any bite to his tone. “She clearly hates my entire bloodline.”

“Reasonable,” Kenma says, and Kuroo elbows him lightly. 

As annoying as Mako is, her saving grace is that she’s a cat, and Kuroo can already feel his grudge starting to slip. Her fur is undeniably soft, and she’s warm, and fine, Kuroo can’t resist petting her, not when she’s purring like that. He’s not immune to feline charm, at least not as a human. 

When Kuroo looks back up, Kenma’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he blinks and turns away, as if he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Kuroo can’t gauge the expression on his face, though— the deep shadows cast by the porch light reveal nothing but a glimmer of gold where his pupils are. 

The light flickers, then cuts out completely, plunging them into near pitch-blackness. 

Kuroo squints in Kenma’s direction, vaguely making out his silhouette against the light streaming from the screen door further down. “Great.”

“We just changed that bulb last month,” Kenma sighs. “Well, at least like this, you can see the stars better.”

Kuroo is pretty skeptical about the stargazing prospects in Tokyo, but obliges and casts his gaze up to the sky, running his hand over Mako’s back absent-mindedly. 

Against the darkness of the sky where there are no clouds, there are indeed distant pinpricks of light, almost too scattered to point each of them out. It’s a half-moon tonight, and the light wanes when clouds linger over it, spectrally pale. Mako meows a complaint; Kuroo realizes his hand has stalled and resumes petting her. 

“Yeah,” he concludes. 

Kenma yawns, stretching back far enough that the sleeves of his sweater slip to reveal pale forearms. It’s a little frustrating that Kuroo can’t properly see his expression, but he seems tired. 

“You wanna go back inside?” Kuroo asks.

“But it’s nice out here.”

“I’m gonna get a crick in my neck if I keep looking up like this. I have old bones.”

Kenma shrugs, then shifts around so he’s facing Kuroo. “We’ll at least say goodnight to Mako first.”

Kuroo can’t help but feel an oddly profound sense of disappointment as Mako rolls off his lap. The cat butts her head against Kenma’s outstretched hand, purring hard, then circles around to brush her tail against Kuroo’s legs before padding silently into the night without so much as a rustle. 

A long moment passes before either of them speak. The crickets fill the silence. 

Kuroo moves first. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and set up the guest futon.”

“I’ll be inside after five minutes, don’t take too long.” 

He leaves Kenma sitting on the dark porch steps. As Kuroo walks further away, the night swallows him whole.

—

The hallway is dark, and Kuroo almost hits his still-wet head on the wall while attempting to find the futon closet. After a few minutes of groping blindly along the wall, though, he manages to find the latch and slides the door open. 

…It’s empty. 

Unsure of how to proceed, Kuroo calls towards the closed door of the bathroom: “Kenma! There’s no futons!” 

He’s careful not to raise his voice too much, since Kenma’s parents have retired to their room downstairs and are probably asleep by now. 

The shower runs for a few more seconds, then stops. 

“One second,” comes the muffled reply. 

He does not take one second— five minutes pass before the bathroom door finally opens. 

Kuroo squints against the blue-tinged light that spills into the hallway. Quietly, Kenma steps out, backlit against the rest of the shadowy corridor. Damp strands of blonde hair fall messily around his face.

He’s only wrapped in a white towel.

Kuroo focuses his gaze very determinedly on the void that is the inside of the futon closet. 

“No futons?” Kenma asks obliviously, like Kuroo isn’t dying inside. 

“Look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Indeed, the closet remains empty.

“...I mean, I’ll sleep on the couch if I have to,” Kuroo says after an awkward pause. 

“Hmm.” Kenma looks like he’s considering something. “No, it’s fine.”

“What do you mean _‘it’s fine?’_ ”

“Oh, you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep then? The floor? My back is gonna be—“

“The bed.”

“...It’s your house. I’m not making you sleep on the couch in _your own_ house, Kenma.”

“No, you idiot, we can share the bed.”

Kenma’s bed is a twin-size mattress. Kuroo doesn’t understand how that would be physically possible, given that they’re no longer elementary schoolers.

But Kenma is already continuing down the hallway towards his room, so he follows him anyway, having been left with no other option.

Kenma flicks on the ceiling light and turns the dimmer down. _Mood lighting,_ Kuroo’s mind offers unhelpfully, and he ignores this thought in favor of going straight for Kenma’s swivelly gamer chair and spinning around in it. 

Kenma narrows his eyes at him, mildly annoyed. “I still have to change, you know.”

“Right.” Kuroo grabs the edge of Kenma’s desk and turns himself around so he’s facing the wall. He absolutely, definitely does _not_ entertain the concept of sneaking a glance, not even briefly. “You done yet?” 

“Yep,” Kenma says, sounding slightly muffled, and Kuroo spins back around to see him in cat-patterned pajama bottoms with his head halfway through the neck of a sweater. 

Kuroo pushes off the desk and rolls toward where Kenma’s standing next to the bedside closet. When he’s close enough, he grabs the hem of the sweater and tugs it down.

It’s only when Kenma’s blinking back at him, surprised, that he becomes fully aware of the unintentional intimacy of this course of action. 

They’re very close to each other, and because Kuroo is still perched on the rolling chair, Kenma is taller than him for once, at least in human form. It’s easier to see Kenma’s face— and there it is again, the slightly widened eyes, large, dark pupils, softly parted lips. The same expression that flitted briefly across his shadowed features out on the porch. 

As soon as it happens, the moment passes, and Kenma’s stepping back to adjust his sweater silently, while Kuroo hastily scoots the chair back and parks it at the desk. He grips the edge to steady himself, both mentally and physically. 

Kuroo coughs over the sound of his own heartbeat. “Uh, so. How’s this going to work?” The question comes out a little strained, even to his own ears. Kenma would definitely notice... 

But Kenma doesn’t spare a reaction, regarding his bed impassively. “You sleep on the edge, I’ll be against the wall. That way, if anyone’s going to fall off, it’ll be you.” 

He sounds completely unaffected. Yes, as anyone without a ridiculous crush on their childhood best friend should sound, Kuroo reminds himself. He at least tries to steady his voice before he responds. 

“So considerate,” he says, and the upward twitch at the corner of Kenma’s lips does not go missed. Banter is comfortable. 

“You’ve been my guest since second grade,” Kenma says, opening the bedside closet. He pulls out a hairdryer and crouches to plug it in. 

Kuroo gets out of the chair and walks over, wearing the teasing smile that he knows Kenma hates. “Let me use it first, as your guest.” 

“Screw you,” Kenma says, and turns on the hairdryer. 

His hair immediately whips around in a damp, blonde tornado, sprinkling droplets of water all around him within a 50 cm radius. Kuroo can’t hear his own laughter over the sound of the dryer. 

Kenma cracks a smile too, flashing underneath the chaos going on with his hair. “Okay, okay,” he yells over the sound, and turns it off. “Here.”

A blast of hot air hits Kuroo directly in the face before he can register what’s happening.

“Why are you _like this!_ ” Kuroo shouts, but he’s laughing, and he can’t open his eyes either. He must look incredibly stupid, but that’s the least of his priorities.

“What??” Kenma yells.

Kuroo opens his eyes, squinting heavily, and he can see Kenma’s shoulders shake slightly. Definitely laughing at him. 

Kuroo wrests the hairdryer from Kenma’s grip, which isn’t really that hard, and points it back at him. 

Kenma closes his eyes tightly against the blast before turning around so he’s facing away from the wind, which actually serves to dry his hair properly a bit. He’s too smart for his own good. 

Kuroo shifts closer and moves the dryer around, having fallen too easily into the role of helping his perpetually lazy friend with yet another mundane task. Kenma, ever-insufferable, has the audacity to lean back and grab Kuroo’s other hand, guiding it up. 

“Seriously?” Kuroo complains, leaning over to make sure he’s heard, but places his hand in Kenma’s hair anyway, ruffling it around a bit. 

It’s ridiculously soft. 

His first thought is, _hey, that’s unfair, I used the exact same conditioner tonight and my hair isn’t like that,_ but his second thought is more along the lines of _how am I supposed to go about my life normally knowing that my stupid crush’s hair also happens to be stupidly soft?_

He _will_ go about the rest of his life normally, though, somehow, so he sets this aside and continues drying Kenma’s hair, careful not to linger too long on one spot. A flush prickles at the tips of his ears, but he can pass that off as heat from the dryer. 

After a while, Kuroo finishes up and points the dryer at his own hair, mussing it around with a far less careful touch. 

Kenma stands up, presumably about to go to bed, but instead he circles around and takes the hairdryer from Kuroo’s grip. Kuroo raises his eyebrows, leaning back so he can look up at him curiously. 

“Sit straight,” Kenma says, glancing sidelong, and Kuroo shrugs and does as he says. 

Slim fingers weave through Kuroo’s hair, tousling it where the heat of the wind is strongest. Kenma’s touch is surprisingly firm, a bit like a scalp massage. 

Whatever he’s doing, it feels very nice. 

It ends after what feels like a few too-short minutes, with a pervading silence left behind by the loudness of the dryer. Kuroo’s eyelids weigh heavy, along with the persistent warm drowsiness tugging at his body. 

“...You’re heavy,” Kenma says, taking his hand away from where it’s apparently been supporting Kuroo’s head, and he almost falls backward. 

He blinks a couple of times. Had he fallen asleep? Embarrassing, but not the worst thing he’d been caught doing. He stands up, swaying a bit, and yawns. “Sorry.” 

Kenma’s cheeks are dusted a slight pink, probably from the heat. “You’re welcome.” He bends down to put the hairdryer back before walking back to the bed, covering a yawn of his own. “Turn the lights off.” 

Kuroo shuffles over to the switch and flicks the lights off, blearily squinting against the sudden darkness. He goes back and flops onto the bed, still only half-conscious. He grabs blindly in search of a second pillow, necessary for how he usually sleeps. 

There’s a yelp when he grabs something that is decidedly not a pillow. 

“That’s my arm, idiot,” Kenma grumbles, facing away from him. “You can deal with one pillow.”

“Can’t sleep well without it,” Kuroo mumbles into the blankets. 

“You sure seemed ready to fall asleep sitting down on the floor, though.”

“...Sure,” Kuroo says, because he’s too tired to think of a response. 

“Goodnight, Kuro,” Kenma sighs, and pulls his arm away. “Sorry about the futons.”

“S’fine. Goodnight.” 

He closes his eyes and tries to sleep, but he wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t sleep well without a second pillow. Even though ten minutes pass and his body has decided to shut down for the day, his brain refuses to let go of his remaining sliver of consciousness. 

He turns over towards Kenma’s side, trying to get comfortable, and freezes. 

At some point, Kenma had turned away from the wall, apparently, and Kuroo has turned in such a way that their faces are mere inches apart. Close enough to feel Kenma’s breaths, soft and warm and vaguely minty, and close enough to count his eyelashes, if he wanted to.

Kuroo shuffles back and _shhhs_ his racing heart as if that will help. He’s definitely awake now. 

“You really can’t sleep?” Kenma’s voice says suddenly, and he almost falls off the damn bed. 

“I thought you were asleep?” Kuroo whispers back, not bothering to make himself sound anything resembling calm. 

“Clearly not,” he says, deadpan. “Sorry if I surprised you.”

Kuroo’s heartbeat is loud enough to hear in his own ears. Given their close proximity, Kenma can definitely hear it too, but Kuroo supposes he can pass it off as a regular startle reaction. 

“You did,” Kuroo says, adjusting his position so it’s more securely on the bed. He can’t bend his knees or he’ll bump into Kenma, so he straightens them, except his feet stick out at the end because he’s too damn tall for this. He sighs. “And indeed, I really can’t sleep.” 

Gold flashes in Kenma’s shadowed gaze. “...Alright.” 

Kuroo watches, confused, as Kenma turns back over towards the wall and curls in on himself, folding his knees. So… he’s being ignored?

“Come closer.” 

It’s only when Kuroo shuffles in that he realizes what Kenma’s proposing. 

“...Did you just offer yourself up as the little spoon?”

“Oh my god, Kuro, shut up,” Kenma groans. He sounds embarrassed, which for Kenma, showing any emotion in his voice means he must be feeling it very strongly, and Kuroo can’t help the shit-eating grin that takes over his face. 

It’s a shame that Kenma’s facing away because his expression would probably be priceless. 

_And very cute,_ Kuroo’s mind offers unhelpfully once again, and he puts this aside along with the rest of his many unhelpful thoughts.

“Nice of you,” Kuroo says, trying not to have heart palpitations as he leans into Kenma’s back. He’s not sure what to do with his arms, really, so he just kind of awkwardly holds them in front of him until Kenma forcefully grabs his right arm and pulls it over himself.

“Yes, yes, whatever, my fault for not reminding my mom not to replace the futons over the weekend,” Kenma mumbles. “Comfortable?”

Kuroo brushes Kenma’s hair out of the way and settles in a bit better, hesitantly sliding his feet back under the covers. “More or less.” 

Idly, he thinks that If he shifted to feline form, they’d probably both be a lot more comfortable— but that explanation, already scientifically impossible, would be incomprehensible in both of their tired states.

“Move your legs in,” Kenma says.

“Uhh.” That amount of contact would probably cause him to implode, but that explanation would be _almost_ as hard as the shapeshifting one, so he can’t exactly say that. “No, I’m good.”

And really, it is an improvement, because Kenma’s warmth is distracting, and the pace of his heart is slowly relenting to sleep, as if this close proximity is some kind of exposure therapy for his dumb crush. 

“Thanks,” Kuroo says through a yawn, feeling tiredness wash over him like a wave. 

“...Goodnight, Kuro.”

It’s the last thing he hears before the release of sleep finally takes him.


End file.
